


Sa Joie De Vivre

by Dior_Dior



Series: Leather and Gold [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Ancient Elven Ritual, Angst, Brecilian Forest, Dalish Elves, F/M, Halla - Freeform, POV First Person, Slow Burn, Smut, Werewolves, Zathrian - Freeform, ancient ruins, elven pantheon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 21:29:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14723918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dior_Dior/pseuds/Dior_Dior
Summary: Bridget Tabris begins to question where exactly she fits in Thedas as an Elf, a Grey Warden, and an Alienage native as she tracks the Werewolves down in the Brecilian Forest.  She also learns a little bit more about Zevran's heritage.  She realizes too that she is falling in love with Zevran, and what exactly that will mean for her and her future. That is, if they ever beat this Blight.  A pair of pretty Dalish gloves with some sentimental value are exchanged.





	Sa Joie De Vivre

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so excited to get back to Denerim and the Alienage and the ineviteable meeting with Taliesen and the earring, but I have to include some more back story here and finish up the Brecilian Forest. I am also planning on extending this story beyond what we know at the ending of the games, so the Warden's internal conflict about being an Elf and also carrying the Taint were a necessary addition-- I know it probably seems like it sort of comes out of left-field but trust me! Thank you for putting up with me during the slow parts, I promise that it will pick up more from here!  
> As always, any non-original dialogue is property of Bioware.

##  Leather and Gold 

###  [ Part 3: ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14723918)Sa Joie De Vivre

Trees surrounded us for miles. Beams of sunlight fought through tall branches and thick clusters of leaves, occasionally winning the battle and spreading in a pool of warm light on the soft forest floor. Leliana regaled us with some wild tales of the Brecilian Forest, and I couldn’t help but be a bit tense while we hiked our way through it. 

Miraculously, the Ashes of Andraste had cured Arl Eamon, and now we were on our way to conscript the aid of our (hopefully) Dalish allies. 

I was nervous. You heard stories of the Dalish in the Alienage. Part myth, part wistful dream, I had wondered before what it would be like to live without humans ruling over you, with ancient traditions and Elven gods. I prayed that they would accept me as a fellow elf, and if they didn’t, that they could at least respect me as a Grey Warden. I prayed to Andraste, because I didn't know any of the Elven gods. I didn't even know if they existed. 

We were headed northeast and I had been worrying for some time that we would never even encounter a clan when a trio of Elven hunters approached us: two male and one female. The woman was in charge and demanded to know our purpose. 

“My name is Bridget Tabris," I said. "I am a Grey Warden seeking out the Dalish Clans of this forest. I have with me ancient treaties I would show your _Hahren_.” I hoped they called them _hahrens_ , as we did in the Alienage. 

The woman seemed to appreciate my forthrightness. She told us to follow her and she would take us to an elf named Zathrian, whom she dubbed the clan’s “First”. I was a little wary it was a trap but what use would there be in an ambush? Either way, I was nervous. Zevran caught on to my tenseness.

“Nervous, _bella_?” he asked me. 

I nodded. 

“You know, the Dalish have always seemed like a fairy tale-- something too good to be true. And, if we aren’t walking into a trap here, I can’t imagine what they will think of me,” I confessed. 

“A trap seems unlikely,” Zevran said. “And beyond that, I’m sure they will think what everyone else thinks: that you are an impressive, intimidating, and incredibly sexy woman who they would be a fool to not comply with.”

I rolled my eyes. 

“While I appreciate the flattery, I am more concerned with the fact that they are Dalish and I am a city elf. I might as well be a _shemlen_ , I’m sure.”

“Tsk, tsk.”

“What, you think I am wrong? Tell me, Zevran, what do you know of the Dalish? Perhaps you can put my mind at ease.”

“Eh,” Zevran said, shrugging. “I know little enough of the Dalish, other than the fact that my mother was one.”

I raised my eyebrows and waited for him to continue. 

“Or, so I was told. She had fallen in love with an elven woodcutter, and accompanied him back to the city, leaving her clan behind for good. And there, of course, the woodcutter died of some filthy disease and my mother was forced into prostitution to pay off his debts. Oldest tale in the book.” He said it factually, a tale you recite without really caring, without pity.

“Zevran,” I said, wondering how to actually respond, “that’s horrible!” It was all I could say. 

“Is it?” he said, almost amused. “It seemed a normal tale growing up, no different than the other elven boys in the whore house.”

“Do you remember your mother at all?”

“Ah. I didn’t know my mother at all, of course. She died giving bith to me. My first victim, as it were.” The normal light in his eyes was gone and they were dull and focused ahead. I wanted to hold his hand, but let him continue. 

“We were all raised communally by the whores. It was a happy enough existence, ignoring the occasional beating, until eventually I was sold to the Crows. I brought a good price, so I hear.” He sounded proud but how pathetic was it to have that as one of your only sources of pride-- the price you fetch from an assassin’s guild that only removes you from one type of servitude to another. His entire life was devoted to serving someone else. So what did that make me?

“I’m...I’m so sorry for you, Zevran,” I said without thinking. But it was true. 

“That’s very kind of you to say my dear, but not necessary. It could have been worse. Shall I tell you about what happened to the other whorehouse boys who did not fetch a decent price with the crows? Surely your life has not been so idyllic? People like you and I are not the product of happy lives of contentment, after all.”

“You can say that again,” I said, grimacing. I knew it was the truth and that given the circumstances, he could have fared much worse. Clearly, in spite of it all he had found his own way. And I knew that, even if his previous life had led him to embark on the suicide mission of killing me, he had found new purpose. I was grateful for that, and I knew he was too. Really, which of us had it worse? We were both, in our own ways, always under the thumb of someone with more power, with round ears and coin. When had I had the luxury of making choices of my own free will, before becoming a Warden? 

“Still,” I said, “I think I would have chosen my childhood in the Alienage over a whorehouse or an assassin’s guild.” _And with my parents_ I thought, sadly. 

He chuckled. “My original point is that my mother’s Dalish Nature was always a point of fascination for me. Through all the years of my Crow training, the one thing of my mother’s that I possessed was a pair of gloves. They were of Dalish make, that much I know, and beautiful. I had to keep them hidden, of course, as we were not allowed such things. Eventually they were discovered, and I never saw them again.”

I could not stop myself from touching his hand sympathetically. He did not move his away. 

“Zevran,” I said, looking at him, “has there been no joy in your life at all?”

He laughed and squeezed my fingers. 

“Oh, there has been plenty. To tell the truth, it is because I expected nothing more. Still, even I eventually thought that it would be better for me if I ran off to join the famous Dalish when one of their clans drew near Antiva City. Natually, the reality did not live up at all to the fantasies I had constructed as a boy, staring at those gloves.”

He did not elaborate, but I could only imagine that they were less kind than his masters if he went back to them, instead of joining the Dalish.

“But such is life. Come, enough talk of the Dalish, let us move on and meet them first.”

* * *

Months later, I read in one of Brother Genitivi’s works that the Antivan Dalish are far different than the Dalish found in Ferelden, the Free Marches, and in Orlais. Which should not be surprising, but perhaps lucky for us in this instance. The Dalish clan in the Brecilian Forest were warmer than I expected them to be, even in spite of the prickly elf here or there. Seeking their respect, we spent the day with the clan, offering our services and getting to know them and their traditions. The clan’s craftsman was welcoming and I promised him I would find ironbark for his trade. Meanwhile, I purchased a set of Dalish armour and wore it proudly, attempting to show that I was willing to embrace and respect their ways. I also traded for a fine bow and quiver of arrows. The craftmanship was remarkable, and I enjoyed learning about the elven goddess, Andruil, for whom an intricate pattern was carved into the polished wood of the bow. 

The armour fit like a glove and was practically weightless. My midriff was exposed, but the hunters explained to me that this aided the fluidity of my movements, decreased fatigue due to its light weight, and often confused non-Dalish who at first glance would be unable to place it as armour. The supple dark green leather was embossed with a pattern of leaves, and enchanted with evasion runes that promised to give the wearer an edge in dodging arrows and quick melee blows.  
Zevran eyed me lasciviously from every angle as we readied ourselves to enter deeper into the forest and investigate the werewolf problem Zathrian had briefed us on. On our way, I stopped short in front of a large pen filled with the most magnificient creatures I had ever seen. 

They were furred in an immaculate white coat, with twisting, interwoven horns spiraling at an angle from the top of their delicate skulls. An elf, Elora, clearly tended them and stood by the fence with one such creature. It pawed the ground anxiously. Elora said that these were halla, and I learned from her the tale of Ghilan’nain, Mother of the Halla. I noted wistfully that, though we we had so much more in common than humans, our culture was still so different. I was fascinated and in awe of the majestic animals. 

“What’s wrong with her?” I asked, motioning to the halla that stood beside Elora. The rest of the herd appeared calm. 

“I am worried that she has been bitten by a werewolf. But I cannot get her to calm down so I can tell what the matter is. I am afraid that if this continues, I will have to put her out of her own misery so as not to infect the rest of the herd. It is painful to think about,” she said, and her eyes glazed over with tears. I too felt a twinge of pity for the poor creature. 

“May I?” I asked, approaching the halla. Elora allowed me to touch it, and I rubbed it gently with my hand. Its fur was soft and fine, and well tended to. The animal didn’t look sick to me, but anxious. I touched my forehead to its own, and placed my hands on its cheeks. 

I murmured to the halla, quitely enough that no one else heard me. 

“I know what it is to be tainted, corrupted. My curse cannot be cured, but the werewolves...we can solve that problem. Is that what you are nervous about?”

The halla nuzzled my neck and stopped stomping the ground. She pulled away and looked towards Elora, who somehow understood the creature. 

“Oh, I see!” she said, “her lifepartner is bitten, not her, and she is worried for him. Warden, I must go to tend to him right away, before it can spread in the herd. _Ma serannas_!” She hurried off to quarantine the halla and the one beside her followed her. 

“So, you are the halla whisperer now?” 

“Oh, shut up, Zevran,” I said, blushing, though I did feel a strange kinship with the animal. “Let’s get going.”

* * *

We were hot on the trail of the werewolves. They had made their lair in some ancient ruins hidden deep within the Brecilian Forest. There were multiple halls, but in one there was a spectral Elven boy, and we followed him towards what seemed to be a chapel. In a side chamber along the way we found ancient stone tablets, depicting some sort of ritual. Ultimately, I knew that this wasn’t going to lead us to the werewolf lair, but I told my companions we should check it out in case it was some sort of secret passage. They accepted and followed me without question. We walked down the old stone steps to a small antechamber. In the middle of the floor there was a well filled with dark, cool water. Along the left wall, an ancient altar had been carved into the stone. There was a small pitcher, and I remembered the tablets we found. I picked up the pitcher, and went towards the well. 

Zevran was suddenly uneasy. 

“Is this really necessary?” he said. “Surely, this seems to be overly complicated for _werewolves_.”

That was true. This was clearly elven, and very, very old. Whatever the issues the werewolves and elves had with each other, the ritual here was for something completely unrelated, and from another time. Perhaps the same time the temple was built. I told myself I would let Brother Genitivi know about this place-- maybe he could find information? In the back of my mind, I chastised myself for detouring but something about the chamber drew me to it. We had seen some unbelievable things over the past two days and I was in a state of confusion. The werewolves talked, Zathrian was clearly keeping a secret from us, and a demon had tried to lull us to our deaths in an abandoned camp. The trees turned into sylvans and tried to murder us. A mad hermit engaged us in a duel of questions and answers while his nemesis, an oak tree, spoke only in rhyme. The spirit of an Arcane Warrior haunted me, and made me to wonder just how much of history was lost to the ages. My world was rapidly expanding, and I realized it was much older than I thought. What would it have been like to live long ago, to be an elf who was a free warrior, beholden to no one and capable of lost magical power? What were my ancestors like, and what would they think of me now? Who along the line cast off the shroud of the Elven gods and submitted to human rule, or were they crushed into servitude? I envied the Dalish, for all their history and rituals and culture. 

I had nothing. I had left behind my family, and joined an Order I knew next to nothing about, and likely would never learn more before dying a painful death. I wanted to go back to the Dalish camp, and learn about where the elves came from. I wanted to be part of a culture that owed nothing to humans, or Wardens, or anyone but ourselves. And here, in this antechamber, I knelt in front of the cool well that seemed to whisper to me while I held the cold metal pitcher in my hands. I read the tablet and followed the steps while my companions looked on. Zevran looked nervous, Alistair indifferent, and Morrigan curious. I felt power, and pride; I felt that I was in control of something no one else had been in ages. When I completed the ritual, the door to a large hall opened. I caught my breath and kept myself from shaking with excitement or rushing into any ancient traps.

The ghostly boy was inside, and we were ambushed by the spirits of elves who spoke a language I ached to understand. The room was filled with sarcophagi and we looted some of them for useful armour and tools. I found an ancient scroll that was magically preserved and written in the common language, though some of the words were archaic. It was roughly 700 years old, and spoke of something called “Uthenera”. Whatever Uthenera was, the purpose of this chamber seemed to be preparation for it. I felt a chill run down my spine and again wondered how old this place was, and what it must have been like in its glory days, but I no longer wanted to stay in this particular room. 

I hurried us out and we made our way back to the main hall, now running in the opposite direction and I noticed also down further underground. More skeletons and undead cropped up that we cut our way through until we reached a room far underground and could go no further. There was a suspicious looking hole in the middle of the room. Unlike other rubble, the hole appeared to be smashed in within recent years, and water rose underneath it. Light glowed in the water as if someone had set glowstones within, and I suspected that this would lead to the lair we sought. Thankful for my light Dalish armour, I sank myself into the pool of cool water, and swam down.

* * *

My heart weighed heavy. We had left the ruins, and made our way back through the forest to the Dalish camp. Zathrian was dead, and the werewolves’ curse was lifted. Even though peace was brokered for both sides, I braced myself for impact. Surely, returning without their First would stir up some anger amongst the clan. But the reaction was not as harsh as I expected. There was melancholy, and suspicious glances here and there, but mostly there was, to my surprise, respect and acceptance. They were grateful the curse was gone, and accepted that the long life of their former first had found its end in sacrifice for them. The most disgruntled abruptly left the camp, claiming they would find the werewolves who had reverted to human form, and make them pay. We watched them go and did not stop them. 

We left the camp with a few tokens of gratitude from the Dalish, and their promise to aid the Grey Wardens in the blight. 

All that was left now was to call the landsmeet. And even though we were so close to our goal, I still could not shake the feelings that had overtaken me while we were in the forest and the ancient ruins. The desire for more; to seek out my roots. My life was now torn between the duties I had to fulfill as a Grey Warden, and wanting an identity for myself as an elf. I had always felt the difference, in my life prior and my life now, of being an elf in a sea of humans, but now the difference was more acute. I was respected for being a Grey Warden, and my outward appearance as an elf was just as much a “taint” as the darkspawn blood inside me. I had thought I could follow one path, and lose myself in the identity of being simply a Grey Warden, but now I knew that would never satisfy me. But a point of contention stuck with me, and that was the shortened life span of the Grey Warden, and the Calling. Two worlds pulled at me, and both were dangerous to my health, so to speak, but only one was actively killing me. I remembered Avernus and told myself that when this was over, I would seek him out. If anyone would actually solve the issue of the Calling and the spread of the taint, it was him. We had allowed him some months ago to continue his efforts humanely, and checked in on him periodically when we visited the Drydens for supplies at the old Warden fort. Some of my companions had disapproved of not eliminating him on the spot then and there, and now I knew why my gut had told me to spare him. The blight and the Landsmeet were all that consumed me now, but when this was over, I knew I had another purpose. 

I thought about Zevran. Would he join me? Would he want to? I knew that I had the strength to do this alone, but I realized that, in my mind, I had been picturing him at my side. I wanted him as my partner and companion and silently prayed that he would join me. 

The Dalish camp disappeared behind us, camouflaged in the forest, with only the sounds of a joyful halla being reunited with her mate leaving any evidence it existed at all.

* * *

Arl Eamon called the Landsmeet. We were making our way to Denerim where we would be welcomed as guests at his estate. I had been thinking more, when I could, about my new resolution to learn more about the taint when this was all over, and mulling it in my mind how I could get Zevran to join me. 

I was constantly plagued with the doubt that when we had accomplished our goals, that Zevran was going to turn tail and run. There was no doubt in my mind now that what I felt for Zevran was love. Every smile, every joke, and every witty sentiment was for his eyes or ears in some way or another. When he wasn’t around I was less animated, and when he was I basked in his attention, and all my troubles melted away. Beyond being my lover he was my best friend--privy to my secrets and fears, I trusted him with more of myself than I had anyone else before, and he never betrayed that trust. For all his bravado and moral ambiguity, he treated me respectfully and gently (or roughly, if I so desired), and I found in him a kind and considerate man. I had to wonder, for a time, whether he was simply very good at what he did, due to his upbringing. I wanted to ask him about this, but was afraid of the answer. Whether it was naive or not, I decided to trust that his feelings for me were genuine, and that the way he made me feel were a reflection of his own. 

How contradictory I was from months ago where I decided that I would engage with him, no strings attached, to the person I was now, craving him at every turn and falling in love. I would have chastised myself for allowing it were it not for the fact that my life was already going to be shorter than most, and I refused to allow myself to regret it. In this way, I was the same as I was when I made that resolution: even if my desires were for another, and in some ways my happiness were dependent on him, they were still my choices, and I knew I could alter these if I so chose. Instead of revealing myself to him, I enjoyed the moments while they lasted, taking it one moment at a time. Eventually though, I realized that if this was truly my choice, I needed to take my destiny into my hands, and make my intentions known, albeit subtly. It is never wise to be too obvious with an assassin. I took encouragement in the fact that, just as I had changed, I believed he had changed ever so slightly as well. Every endearment held behind it the hint of true affection, and the look in his eyes changed over time from lust to something more. 

One evening at camp, Alistair came and sat beside me at the fire. 

“Bridget?”

“Yes, Ali?”

“I...Bridg, you are my best friend, and I care about you. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. You seem a bit...different since we left the Dalish. Especially around Zevran. Is everything alright there?”

I smiled at him, and apologized for being so withdrawn.

“I have a lot on my mind. Obviously, we all do.” He nodded in agreement. “Truth be told, Alistair, I think I’m falling in love, and I don’t know whether that’s right or the most stupid mistake I could ever make. I have never been in love before, not even with--” I trailed off and he waited patiently for me to continue. “It’s so silly, isn’t it?” I chastised myself. “In the middle of all this, I’m whining about love and wondering how someone who was hired to _kill_ me might possibly feel about me.” I laughed at the irony. 

“Well,” he said slowly, “you know how I feel about him, but I also know that your judgment is better than mine, and you seem to have a knack for making things turn out for the best. If you love him, I won’t tell you you’re wrong. Just know that if he hurts you, I will make sure he regrets it for the rest of his life. I can do that, when I’m king, you know.” There was a playfulness to his tone but I knew that he was serious, and I thanked him. 

“All of this is irrelevant, until the blight is stopped,” I said. 

“I think, sometimes, you’re allowed to have some irrelevant feelings,” he said gently. I leaned against his shoulder and closed my eyes. He wrapped his arm around me, pulling me into a side hug. I was no closer to solving my issues than I was before, but I felt some weight lifted off of me. I gave him a kiss on the cheek and stood up. 

“I’m exhausted,” I said, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

The next day while we were on the road, Alistair surprised me by engaging Zevran in conversation about our relationship. I listened, more eagerly than I wanted to admit, while he interrogated Zevran with an embarrassing lack of subtly. I pretended not to hear. 

“So, Zevran,” he said conspicuously, falling into step with him, “let me ask you something. What are your intentions with her?” I could almost picture him trying to point at me behind my back sneakily, and failing miserably. 

Zevran laughed. “You speak of her as if she is not present. She is right over there, you know….”

I was still pretending not to hear them, and focused on the road ahead. Alistair was persistent. 

“Don’t dodge the question. I am serious.” There was an edge to his voice that I had never heard before. He was definitely serious. I was somewhat proud of him. 

Zevran sounded surprised. “Is this brotherly concern I detect? Or something else?” His voice softened, and I struggled to hear him. “I owe her a blood debt, as she has spared my life.” 

“And when that debt is repaid?” 

Zevran paused before answering, and I feared that he would not. 

“Why, Alistair, who says that it ever will be repaid? Perhaps there will never be someone so foolish to get close enough to our dear Bridget to actually endanger her life again as I did, and my services will be rendered useless. Alas, as much as I believe you wish it, I would have to follow her around indefinitely. Thankfully, I very much enjoy the sight of our fearless leader from behind. There could be worse causes to devote your life to.” 

Alistair made an exasperated noise.

“Well, just…watch yourself, then. I’ll be keeping an eye on you.” he threatened, and moved forward, leaving Zevran behind. 

Though none of it was a direct answer, a flame of hope blossomed in my chest, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that Zevran would find an excuse to stick it out with me, just as I intended to find an excuse forcing him to stay. 

When we were a day away from Denerim, we came upon a group of huts beside some fields of wheat. They were abandoned but in good shape. We chose to make camp there and kept our tents packed. I was anxious to reach Denerim, and this thankfully gave us the opportunity to leave much faster in the morning. Everyone was tense, and just as happy as me to sleep on an actual bed. I set my pack down and rifled through it, looking for a particular package. 

Back in the Brecilian forest, I found a pair of gorgeous Dalish leather gloves, and was waiting for the right opportunity to give them to my lover. I decided that now was the time. I found them and pulled them out of my pack. They were a lovely forest green, supple and soft, and barely worn. A simple pattern of vines and leaves were embossed into the leather. 

I found Zevran near the fire, and without ceremony, handed the gloves to him nervously. 

He eyed them with slight confusion, but took them from me with a smile. 

“Gloves?” he asked. “You’re giving me gloves? What for?”

I thought for a second that he was mocking the gift, but he genuinly seemed surprised. 

“They’re Dalish gloves,” I said quietly, blushing. “Like--like your mother’s.”

“I…” he started, and examined them closely, running his fingers over the leather. “Maker’s breath, you’re right, it is like my mother’s.” His eyes stared into the distance before returning to the pair in his hands. “The leather was less thick, and it had more embroidery....but these are very close. And, quite handsome.” He smiled at me. 

“You’re welcome,” I said, some uncertainty to my voice. I hoped I had not over stepped any boundaries. 

“Do I seem surprised?” he chuckled, and noted my nervous expression. “Perhaps I am. Still, I appreciate the fact that you even thought of me.” He looked at me with his amber eyes, a smile hidden in them only given away by the creases in the corners. “No one has simply…given me a gift before,” he explained. He took my hand and kissed it. 

“Thank you.”

He stood and began walking towards his designated hut with the gloves, and I assumed he was simply putting them into his pack when he called after me. I got up and followed him into his hut. 

He put the gloves away and then pulled me close without another word. I made to ask him if he liked them, but he silenced my lips with his own. I was still wearing the Dalish armour I had purchased in the forest, and he gripped my bare waist with his warm, dexterous fingers. 

There was an urgency to his kisses that I had only experienced a few times before, generally induced by brandy and a particular heat to the moment. It became clear to me that the evening was not going to stretch out into an hour or two of passion like his usual forte; what he wanted, he wanted _now_. 

For my own part, I was only too happy to oblige. 

I felt a smidge of satisfaction, and convinced myself that the sudden heady rush was the result of my gift. It didn’t matter if I was correct or not, that would be my belief. 

Zevran didn’t bother to remove my armour, but it wouldn’t have mattered. I could feel his hands roaming over the leather or on my skin where it was revealed, and felt him harden against me. My lips were glued to his, and his tongue danced with mine, teasing me with what I desired below. In a skillful motion, he tore my undercloth apart, exposing me under the skirted leather. I unbelted his trousers while he sucked on my earlobe, my neck and my collarbone. Deciding it was time, he gripped my right thigh and pulled it up and around his hip, and before I realized what happened he thrust into me roughly, shoving himself all the way in and pulling me onto him to get in as deep as possible. 

I cried out with a hoarse, throaty sound, and gripped him with my raised right leg. He thrust in and out slowly and deeply, moving my hips each time forward and backwards. He took advantage of the solid walls of the wooden hut, and pushed me against the nearest one, raising my left leg to wrap against him with the right one. I held onto him, seemingly weightless, while he pumped in and out of me like an animal, quickly and savagely. It was hard for me to focus my eyes on anything but when I could, they settled on his own, which were gazing at me intently. Using the wall and one arm around him to support my back, I licked the fingers of my right hand, which then found their way below, where I started rubbing myself while still looking directly into his eyes.

Within a moment, the combination of his relentless thrusting, his intense gaze, and my own handiwork tipped me completely over the edge, calling out like a cat in heat. I felt myself convulsing and contracting around him, and forced myself to keep my eyes open, hypnotized by his eyes while his own expression changed from hunger to passion to the same as my own, a desperate need. 

He expanded and thrust one last time within me before I felt myself filling up with warmth that quickly overtook my entire being. Gently, he untwined my legs and set them back on the ground. He helped me steady myself upright, kissing me the whole while. 

“Zevran, I--” my voice seemed to echo in the room and he put a finger to my lips. 

“Shh,” he whispered, and kissed me again.

“There is no need for more words tonight.” 

He carried me over to his bed to hold me in his arms before I drifted into a deep, dreamless slumber.


End file.
